Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair
Destination: United Kingdom
Attractions: Stratford-upon-Avon, Stonehenge and Nick Vaux
Nick Vaux had told Olivia Grant he loved her, then he'd walked out of her life and returned to his homeland. Confused and betrayed, Olivia follows him to England, unable to let go of the passion they share. But Nick has changed. The attraction still exists between them, but Nick's convinced that their relationship must remain a mere memory of the past!
CHAPTER ONE
Glancing down at the luggage overflowing the airport trolley, Olivia Grant decided that there was no way she could cope with it all on the subway into London. It would have to be a cab and to hell with the expense. Automatic doors opened in front of her, letting in a breath of fresh March air as she left the terminal building and headed for the cab rank. There was a line of taxis waiting for fares. They were square, black and stately, making the yellow cabs back in New York look like frantic sports cars in comparison. The sight of them gave Olivia & frisson of excitement; every film she'd ever seen about London had featured a London taxi—they were far too grand to be called cabs—and for the first time she really felt that she was in a strange country, a strange continent.
A driver whose accent sounded so Cockney that he must have been born right under Bow bells, never mind in sound of them, cheerfully lifted her luggage inside on to the floor, but her lap-top computer she kept on the seat beside her. Although the air was chill the sun was shining brightly, catching Olivia's eyes as they emerged into the open, so that she had to put up a hand to shield them as she looked eagerly out of the windows.
So this was England, this green land of absurdly small fields and leafless trees. Nick's England, that he had spoken of with unknowing pride and nostalgia. She had always wanted to come here, of course, but listening to him had fired her imagination even more. She would have come anyway, she told herself, even if she hadn't wanted to see Nick again so badly. After they'd split up and he'd gone back to England he had answered her first few letters, but then had come a long gap when he hadn't replied, and finally, appallingly, a last letter only to say that he thought it was a mistake to keep in touch. But she'd loved him so much that even after that she'd gone on writing—just postcards now and then, and a letter on the anniversary of the day they'd met and the time they'd gone to Vermont, but he hadn't answered any of them, even when she'd written to tell him that her divorce had gone through and she was free at last.
Her impatience made the highway into London stretch endlessly, even though Olivia was fascinated by all she saw. The fields gave way to terraces of small houses and then the larger buildings of the city that still went on for miles until they reached central London.
'Your first visit to London, is it, miss?' the driver asked her.
'Yes. My first to London. My first to England.'
Catching the enthusiasm in her voice, he started pointing out famous landmarks to her, but he needn't have bothered; Olivia recognised them all.
She'd booked a room in a hotel near Hyde Park and the sun was beginning to go down as the taxi pulled up outside. She was hungry and needed a shower, but as soon as Olivia was in her room she made for the phone book. Vaux; it was such an unusual name that there couldn't be many in the book. A smile came into her eyes as she remembered the first time she'd met Nick and he'd introduced himself. 'Nicholas Vaux. Spelt V-A-U-X,' he'd told her with one of his lazy grins, his dark eyes smiling into hers.
Her hands had stilled as she remembered, but Olivia quickly bent to read the book, her finger running down the column. But there was no Vaux, N. And no one at all by the name of Vaux at Nick's address. Olivia frowned, taken aback; she'd been so sure that she would just be able to pick up the phone and call him. Instead she picked it up and called the hotel operator.
'Hi. I'm trying to locate a friend. I have his name and address but it isn't in the book.'
'Perhaps it's ex-directory. If you'll give me the details, madam, I'll make enquiries and call you back,' the polite female English voice informed her.
'OK. Thanks.'
Olivia began to unpack and had hung up her clothes and set up her computer before the phone rang.
'I'm sorry, madam,' the operator told her, 'but there is definitely no Nicholas Vaux listed at the address you gave. But I looked in an old book and he was listed there, so it seems that your friend must have moved out of the London area within the last eighteen months.'
'Gone away?' Olivia said it faintly, unable to believe it. 'But he—he can't have.'
'Perhaps he's listed outside London,' the operator said sympathetically. 'If you like, I could go through all our other directories to try to find someone of that name. I'm afraid it might take quite a while, though.'
'Would you do that? That would be great. Thanks, I appreciate it.'
'No trouble, madam. I'll call you back in a couple of hours.'
Her first elation dampened by the set-back, Olivia took a shower, then went down to eat in the hotel restaurant, making sure she was back in her room well before time. She sat down at the table where she'd plugged in her computer-cum-word processor and tried to put down her first impressions of England, but her mind was too anxious to write anything except that the telephone operators were incredibly helpful. But even so she was pacing the floor and saying, 'Come on, come on,' as soon as the two hours were up.
But it was almost twenty minutes later before the phone finally rang. 'Sorry it took so long; there were a lot of books to go through,' the operator apologised. 'Do you have a pencil and paper?'
But Olivia wedged the receiver against her ear and typed the list of numbers directly on to the word processor as the operator read them out. There were about forty numbers, scattered across the whole of the British Isles. 'Thanks, you've done a great job.'
'If you don't have any luck with these, you could try going to the old address to ask if your friend left a forwarding address.'
'A good idea. Thanks. And thanks for all your help.'
'My pleasure, madam. Just dial nine for an outside line.'
As a journalist, Olivia was used to using the phone to get information, but tonight her senses quickened every time her call was answered, hoping that it would be the well-remembered deep tones of Nick's voice. When it wasn't she would say, 'Hi, I'm sorry to bother you but I'm trying to trace Nicholas Vaux. Do you happen to know him?' Once she thought she was on his trail and her hopes soared, but it turned out to be another Nicholas Vaux entirely, a boy of only seventeen who sounded quite disappointed when he was brought to the phone and Olivia apologised for her mistake.
Her first real clue came when a man with what Olivia thought of as an upper-crust accent said that he had a distant relative by the name of Nicholas Vaux.
'Is he a pilot?' Olivia asked excitedly. 'Did he used to live in London? In his thirties, tall, with dark hair?'
'Could be.' But the voice sounded wary. 'Are you an— er—friend of his?'
'Yes, that's right. We met in the States. I have his London address but he seems to have moved on from there. Do you know where he is now?'
The voice became slightly more friendly. 'Not sure. My wife deals with that kind of thing, and she's away at the moment. Probably taken her address book with her. Hold on, I'll have a look.'
There was quite a long delay before the man came back and said, 'No, sorry, can't help you at the moment. I seem to remember that he went into business. Something to do with helicopters, I think.'
'Can you remember where?'
There was a silence in which she could imagine the man's brain working, and she could almost see him shaking his head as he said, 'Sorry, n
o. My wife would probably remember. She's good at that kind of thing.'
'When will she be back?'
'Not for a fortnight, I'm afraid.'
'A fortnight? Oh—you mean two weeks.'
'Yes, that's right. Sorry I can't be more helpful.'
'No, you've helped a lot. Thanks.'
Putting down the phone, Olivia sighed with disappointment, then circled the number she'd just called and went on to the next one. A lot of the numbers didn't answer until she'd called two or three times, some not at all, and at ten-thirty she gave up for that day, jet lag catching up with her and making her yawn.
The traffic noise outside was quieter than back home, but the air was still split with the occasional police or ambulance siren on its way to some emergency. Olivia lay in bed but, contrarily, was unable to sleep. She tried not to think of Nick, tried instead to think of the series of articles that she had been commissioned to write by a leading monthly magazine group. Articles which she had really pushed so that she would have an excuse to come over to England—and to look up Nick. Which brought her round full circle. Olivia smiled at her lack of mental control and let her mind go where it would, so that she soon fell asleep with the smile still lingering on her lips.
Next morning, Olivia ate breakfast in her room and tried the numbers she hadn't been able to reach the night before, managed to reach a few but still didn't get any further clues to Nick's whereabouts. He seemed to have just disappeared. Unless his new number wasn't listed yet, or was ex-directory, as the operator had put it. At eleven she realised that she'd been in London for eighteen hours and hadn't even been outside yet. Pulling on a coat and boots, and putting a wide-brimmed, stetson- style hat over her thick, shoulder-length dark hair, Olivia went out into the bright March day.
Trying to remember that the traffic was coming from the wrong direction, she crossed over Park Lane and went into Hyde Park. The trees were bare but there were plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine, although there weren't as many activities going on as she was used to seeing in Central Park. There was a map of London at the entrance to the park; Olivia stopped to look at it, and found Nick's street, his old street, off to the west in an area called Kensington. Looking closer she saw that Kensington Palace was close by. Well, one of the articles she had to write was about the stately homes of England, so why not start at the top?
According to the map it was possible to walk through the park to Kensington from Marble Arch, where she was standing. Olivia set off along Rotten Row, walking at a brisk, long-legged pace, her eyes feasting on everything around her. She passed the piece of water called the Serpentine—no way could you call anything that small a lake, then made her way across to the more sheltered paths of Kensington Gardens. The Albert Memorial, and the Albert Hall directly opposite, held her attention for almost ten minutes but then she turned to go quickly on. When she reached the Palace Olivia stood outside it for a couple of minutes then admitted to herself that she hadn't come to see it at all, and headed instead for Nick's old address.
She found his flat in an Edwardian apartment building in a quiet side-street lined with parked cars. Olivia pressed the bell and a woman's voice told her to come up. The woman turned out to be friendly, middle-aged, and helpful. When Olivia asked if Nick had left a forwarding address she said, 'I don't think we have it, but I'm sure the agents we leased the flat through would know. I'll give you their address, shall I? It's not far away. Just down Kensington High Street.'
Olivia would have liked a look at the apartment where Nick had lived, but the woman didn't ask her in, and she set off again to find the agency, which, as the woman had said, was only five minutes' walk away. By now it was lunchtime and there was only a teenage girl on duty at the agency. Olivia had no difficulty at all in persuading the girl to hand over Nick's new address. Her hand trembled a little as she took the slip of paper but Olivia managed to keep her tone casual as she thanked the girl and left. Outside she eagerly read the address but was immediately deflated as she saw that it was only that of a solicitor in a place called Gloucester, in another place called Glos.
Olivia had heard of Gloucester before but had no clear idea where it was, so she headed for the nearest bookshop and bought an armful of guide books that she carried back to her hotel. Gloucester she found quite easily—it was near the border with Wales—but it took a phone call to the friendly operator to find out that Glos was short for Gloucestershire, which you pronounced Gloucestershire, all one word. Olivia rang the solicitor but got the reply she'd expected—'I'm sorry, we're not allowed to give the addresses of our clients, but if you would like to write to Mr Vaux at this address we will pass on your letter.' And just what good would that do when he hadn't answered any of her other letters? she thought gloomily.
Olivia declined to leave her name and got back to the hotel operator. 'Could you do me another favour? This friend I'm trying to find; there's a possibility that he might be living somewhere near Gloucester, and it's also possible that he could have gone into the helicopter business. I'm not exactly sure in what line of helicopter business, but do you think you—?'
'Could look up all the relevant numbers in that area,' the operator finished for her, sounding amused. 'I'll phone you back as soon as I can.'
Her stomach was making noises so Olivia ordered a meal from Room Service and tried to settle down to do some work while she waited. The articles she had been commissioned to write were on various aspects of Shakespeare's England, and also on the English National Trust, the charitable body that preserved stately homes and parts of the countryside and coastline for posterity. She had acquired quite a lot of information which she'd fed into the computer before she'd left the States, of course, and had prepared a loose schedule of the places she wanted to visit. Now she compared her list with the guide books, and was pleased to find that Gloucester was only about thirty miles from Stratford- upon-Avon.
Her meal arrived and Olivia began to eat, reworking her schedule at the same time, but hastily dropped her fork when the phone rang.
'I have some numbers for you, madam.'
'OK. Shoot.'
'There aren't many, I'm afraid, although there may be other helicopter companies in the area that operate from airports.'
'Well, I'll try these first and get back to you if I don't have any luck.'
There were six numbers. Too eager to eat, Olivia dialled the first one and decided to take a more direct approach. 'I have a message for Mr Vaux; is he there, please?'
There was the usual no, except for one man who said brusquely, 'You've got the wrong company,' and put the phone down on her. Her hopes dying, Olivia tried the last number.
'Evesham Helicopter Services.'
'Is Mr Vaux there, please?'
'I'm sorry, he's out this afternoon. Can I take a message? Hello? Are you there?'
'Yes. Yes, I…' Olivia took a deep breath and pulled herself together. 'I have got the name right—it is Nicholas Vaux?'
'Yes, that's right. Do you want him to call you back?'
'No, that's OK. I—I'll write. Could you give me your exact address, please?'
'It's Harnbury Hall Estate, Harnbury-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire.'
'Thank you.' Olivia smiled, enchanted by the name. 'And—er—just what services do you offer?'
'We hire out helicopters for all purposes and we also give lessons to trainee pilots. Would you like me to send you a brochure?'
Olivia would have loved one but she said, 'No, that's not necessary. Thanks for your help.'
'Shall I tell Mr Vaux you called?'
'No, it wasn't important,' Olivia replied, and put down the phone. Then sat back and realised what a lie she'd just told. Nick had become the most important thing in her life almost from the first moment she'd met him at a concert in New York, when he'd been sitting beside her and had fallen happily asleep on her shoulder. Her eyes grew dreamy for a few minutes but then she burst into action. Another phone call, to Reception this time, asking them to
arrange a hire car for her, to book her into a hotel in Stratford-upon-Avon, and to get her bill ready. 'Oh, and could you arrange for a big box of chocolates to be sent to your telephone operator, please? With my thanks. And tell her I found him. She'll understand.'
The man from the car hire company, seduced by her slim figure and good looks, worked out the route to Stratford for her and sat beside her for a couple of miles until she got the hang of the car and driving on the wrong side of the road in the heavy London traffic. But the other drivers were so courteous and well-behaved that there was really no problem. Olivia could remember driving experiences in some foreign countries that still gave her nightmares.
Once out of London the going was easy; you just got on the wide highways—motorways, they called than in England—until it was time to turn off. 'Stratford-upon- Avon.' The sign came up, and Olivia felt a big thrill as she turned off the motorway. She had always loved Shakespeare, and especially since she had taken the part of Portia in The Merchant of Venice at high school. But it was almost dark as she drove into the town and she was too busy concentrating on finding her hotel to look around her very much.
The drive had tired her, and it was too late to try to find Nick today—his company would probably have closed more than an hour ago. Olivia had a meal at the hotel, then took a stroll round the town, but all there was to see were the lighted windows of shops—souvenirs and antiques mainly, so she went back to her room for an early night. But again it was difficult to sleep. She was too excited, too anxious. Would Nick be pleased to see her—or would he be angry? The worst thing would be if he just didn't care, it had been nearly two years since they'd split up, since she'd seen him. Often, lying awake at night like this, she had been tortured by the thought that he might have met someone else, might even be married by now.
Her own life had been such a mess—that too impetuous marriage to Scott Landers when she'd been only nineteen and had fallen heavily for his blond handsomeness, his popularity, and the fact that he had chosen her from all the other girls. Then had come the early realisation that it had been only infatuation, that she'd mistaken first love for the real thing. But the real thing hadn't come along, and she'd tried hard to make the marriage work, but had become more and more caught up with her journalistic career. Scott had resented this and been jealous of her success; he had to be the successful one, the prize in their relationship, she the adoring consort. Olivia had tried to give him the constant boost to his ego that he needed until he had started to demand that she give up her work. This had led to a lot of fights, but he'd belittled her achievements once too often and she had finally told him to go to hell and had walked out.
Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair Page 1
